It’s a pity that I can’t write in English. I really would like to put my thoughts properly in another language, but I think that to do it I need to learn much more yet. But I have to be patient, and if I realize that 3 months ago I was speaking English like a retard monkey, at last I’m making some progress. I try hard to understand how my confuse brain could accept to think in English, organize all that messed up crazy stuffs that are waving away for my entire mind, keep information about emotions, situations, places, yellow sukinis . Also is a problem find more time to read and study about structural functions of a new language when all around you are new too. New persons, new environment, new points of view about the world and within this timeless wheel that never stop to spin you are just flowing until the end of day behind cigarettes and thousand stars. But for while I still believe that is the better way, just living the real life with real people to discover this brave feeling that become the differences so funny, instead of stay stuck in one boring white room with a autocratic teacher learning a lot of enigmatic rules and expecting that you speak English like a British poet. A guy from Israel army that learned sitar and meditation in India, a woman from Zimbabwe that taught English in Serbia, a Canadian girl that can put her feet over the head and cook a hamburger soup. This is a kind of people whose is a pleasure to learn. Well, but the most important is that I feel good wolfing down all those new ideas, doesn’t matter if I’m wrong or right, and one day I hope to learn how to write in English just to explain to you about this stuffs.
